


Cause I want more

by luluxa



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-31 13:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluxa/pseuds/luluxa
Summary: Ragnar wakes up on a boat.





	Cause I want more

Ragnar wakes up on a boat.

He feels restless and tired in the same time and it’s a familiar feeling, the one you get after being for too long in the open sea, not able to move much but rowing plenty. He lies quietly, staring at the wet boards that smell of salt and fish and pitch-covered wood. The air is cold and foggy, sounds odd and disperse, so the voices of the crew seem distant and muffled. It’s all achingly real.

He can’t be in Valhalla, Ragnar figures. He hasn’t died in a battle, there was no weapon in his hand – it was rather the point, as he’s hoped dying like a Christian martyr would give him a chance ending up in Christian heaven. But maybe he was too evil for that, maybe he’s ended up in Hel, soon to become a soldier in Loki’s army of restless dead.

Ragnar doesn’t want to find out, particularly, but his muscles are taut from inaction though ready for anything. Ragnar feels young and strong, like he hasn’t in a very long time. There’s no pain in his bones or old scars, no deep-seated weariness of an old wreck. His body wants to get up and fight, run, strain, win – but his mind is still in the snake pit, exhausted and suffering, and it seems exactly like something a cruel Norse god would inflict onto him.

Bored and annoyed, Ragnar sits up, surprised momentarily at how easy it comes to him. He glances around and discovers the faces of the men are vaguely familiar, as if from a long time ago – he scowls and turns around, trying to remember where he has seen them, and halts.

Right behind him, there are Floki and Rollo, both looking just as young as Ragnar feels, but to Ragnar’s knowledge, neither of them is dead. They can’t be on this boat with him, it’s not right. 

“Rollo?” he mutters, confused.

“Still no land,” Rollo says darkly. “No sign of anything.”

_Are you dead?_ Ragnar wants to ask him. _Are we all dead? _

No one is acting perturbed, just disgruntled and sullen from being lost in the fog. Are they unaware something much bigger is out of order? Don’t they remember about their lives, like Ragnar does?

He stands up and there is indeed no land visible anywhere.

“Ravens didn’t come back either yet,” Rollo continues. “They’ve been gone all night. There’s still a chance.”

A memory stirs in Ragnar, a very distant one – the one he tried not to disturb.

He knows that fog and his ships being lost in it. He knows these men and he knows where they are going.

He’s not sure anymore if this is punishment or some sort of a twisted reward – because if it’s the latter, he doesn’t want it.

With dread, he sits back down, knowing any moment now he’ll hear the seagulls and everyone will cheer, finally reaching the land they’ve been searching for. In just an hour, Ragnar will step ashore and climb the hill and see the monastery, the turning point of his entire life. Is this why he woke up here, on this boat, on that day? Is there a point in it somewhere?

He waits, heart beating faster with every minute, as he thinks about it and all it entails. If this is his reward, there will be Athelstan, alive, wrapped in his stupid priest gowns, clutching on his Bible in fear, so impossibly dear – maybe Ragnar gets to relive this day before going truly to Hel, maybe some god was kind to him, not cruel.

When the seagulls flash out of the mist, Ragnar cheers with his crew, ordering them to row, for he can’t wait.

He goes through the preparations, even though he’s tempted to sneak away and just run to the monastery yelling Athelstan’s name on top of his lungs. But it feels right to stick to the plot, so Ragnar does, smiling to himself.

He pays little attention to the men acting very cautious and prepared to fight an army – they may do whatever they like upon entering the monastery. Ragnar has his very own goal.

*

Athelstan wakes up in a monastery.

He knows that immediately upon opening his eyes, the bell still ringing, telling him to get up and start the day. His cot is hard and the blanket itchy and in the darkness he can hear his brothers shuffle and mutter, as they get up.

It’s decidedly not how Athelstan had envisioned the afterlife.

He sits up, utterly confused – he remembers quite clearly the pain from the axe breaking his spine, his shoulder bones, ripping out the intestines from him, the agony that seemed to last an eternity. He remembers slipping into nothingness a millennia later, his mind detaching from the pain, mercifully. He felt no anger, no indignation, as he was being murdered – it was his choice, after all, something Floki couldn’t know or understand. He was just a weapon in God’s hands, a tool to deliver Athelstan from his sinful, lost body.

Athelstan rather hoped to realise himself in Heaven next, although, of course, it was rather presumptuous. What did he do to deserve himself Heaven?

This, though, doesn’t look like Heaven or Hell or even Purgatory.

Athelstan goes through all the familiar motions and prayers with his brothers, only half-aware of his actions, trying to figure out the mystery. He knows it’s Lindisfarne, sometime before Ragnar had found him, obviously – the days back then were so alike he could barely tell them apart. Maybe it is Purgatory then, after all. A dull existence between light and shadow, nothing particularly bad happening to him and nothing good either, and all Athelstan can do is pray, over and over and over, until he forgets the pagan gods, until he washes away the blood he’s spilt, until the earthly passions leave his soul entirely.

He was under a self-confident delusion he’s reached all that the day Floki killed him, but of course, that was only a delusion. He couldn’t seriously expect a sudden repentance would cleanse him from all the dirt, could he? Just a week before that he stood beside Ragnar and desired him with all his being and a simple denial of it couldn’t mean he was truly free of it.

Athelstan kneels on the hard cold floor, reciting the prayer but his mind is nowhere near it. He pokes at all the dark corners of his soul and finds them all there, familiar and never having gone anywhere.

“Amen,” he says as he recalls vividly Ragnar stroking his scarred palms.

Evidently, Athelstan is going to spend in the monastery a very long time.

With that thought he exits the chapel and promptly runs into brother Luke.

“They’re here!” he yells at Athelstan in panic, panting heavily. “They’re here!”

Oh dear, Athelstan thinks, stepping back. Oh bloody dastardly dear.

It appears that Purgatory involves temptations as well.

He watches the brothers scatter in fear, too preoccupied with his problems to follow the example. What if he doesn’t hide and the first Viking through the gates – hopefully not Ragnar – just kills him on spot? Will Athelstan wake up in the same day again? No, he probably has to hide and be discovered, again and again, until he sees Ragnar and feels only the purest sort of love.

Hoping to find some strength with the word of God, Athelstan goes back to the chapel and hides with the Bible behind the altar, praying. He has some minutes to brace himself, at least.

He appears to be wrong.

*

Ragnar leaves the men with the priests after he points at the door for them. He’ll have a couple of minutes with Athelstan without any witnesses, not having to threaten him or ask him anything. Ragnar just wants to hug him and hold him and pretend it’s going to last.

He finds Athelstan behind the altar, like he expects, clutching the Bible, eyes large and clear.

“Here you are,” he whispers, smiling, his throat tight. “It’s been so many years,” he says, knowing Athelstan has no clue what is this dirty Viking on about and finding it endearing.

“Years?” Athelstan repeats, frowning, as Ragnar drags him up and into an embrace.

“Felt like centuries,” Ragnar says conversationally, burying his face in the soft curls. They smell, unfamiliarly, of incense, and Ragnar strokes through them, something he always wanted to do back when they met but never indulged.

Pressed into his shoulder, trembling, Athelstan sighs and suddenly, astonishingly, hugs Ragnar back, dropping his book on the floor with the motion. “I’m never going to Heaven,” he mutters with despair. “I’m sorry, Lord.”

Ragnar pauses, scowling. “What?”

Before Athelstan can enlighten him, there are voices outside, Leif and Rollo, and Ragnar takes a step away.

Athelstan looks a bit lost but not scared. He remembers everything too, figures Ragnar, and a wave of hot and happy gratitude raises in his chest.

“What happens now?” 

Ragnar takes his unscarred palm and smiles. “Whatever we want.” 


End file.
